


(工)藤

by FateTrash



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dom/sub Undertones, Flower Language, Hanahaki Disease, Indirect mentions of the 'Black' Organization, M/M, Metaphors for days, Mostly Kaito's POV, Non-Graphic Smut, POV First Person, Pining, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 04:39:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15987809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FateTrash/pseuds/FateTrash
Summary: To say he fell in love with him the first moment he set his eyes on him would be immoral.But not inaccurate.After all, he was but a short seven year old boy then.





	(工)藤

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short self-indulging work based off of an existing AU between me and my partner where Kaito and Shinichi ends up running a version of the 'Black' Organization.  
> For their code names, we went with:  
> Shinichi - Hypnotiq (based off of the liqueur 'Hpnotiq')  
> Kaito - Moscato
> 
> Kuroba Kaito's mind is a bit of a mess. Kinda happens when you're a genius. 
> 
> That's really all you need to know! Please enjoy!

To say he fell in love with him the first moment he set his eyes on him would be immoral. But not inaccurate. After all, he was but a short seven year old boy, his voice deceptively lined with innocence before those dark, deep, dusty, blue eyes narrowed at him. The voice that almost changes at the invisible sleight of hand into an arrogant one. So that he couldn’t help but respond with equally infuriating words to step on the child’s ego (does that make him the real child?) down a few notches. But in the end, when had he (they, both of them) ever cared about what was moral and what wasn’t? Kaito Kuroba learned that very quickly about the (not so) young detective very quickly.

Their relationship since then had deviated from a detective and thief. If he had to put it into words, he would say it was the relationship between a hunter and his prey. The hunter being the detective, and he, willingly being his prey. The bruising from soccer balls scraping past. The prick of an anesthetic needle he never wanted to feel (and hasn’t yet!). The tight restraints that were the belts the other wore, wrapping tightly (deliciously) around his wrists, as the hunter tried to hinder the main tools of his prey’s trade. He, as the prey, chose the location and welcomed the audience. Then he, as the hunter, scorched through the puzzles and cornered him (in the night).

It was a mutual need (want, he wanted). The detective demanded a prey, and he wanted an audience, a critic. So (ah) when did it turn into a pining? It was probably two years since their first (he had learned by then it was their second, technically) meeting when he saw Kudo Shinichi stand tall and free from the ‘Black’ Organization’s clutches. He had the privilege to watch his hunter’s mind spin like the chamber of a gun (every slot was loaded) and crush this group with the heel of his of feet like the (majestic) hunter that he was. Petals rose to his throat, and it was all he could do (in disguise) to not double over and cough them out into his hands (his hunter may notice him). So the prey made himself scarce before the blue wisteria petals pooled in his hands. New life, new ventures. That was certainly true for his hunter.

For a brief moment, the prey feared that the hunter would forget about him. The detective was a brilliant hunter, and has a collection of too many past prey like how a serial killer had a collection of trophies. But he wouldn’t let that happen (he wasn’t _any_ prey).

A heist notice. An award-winning show. A wild chase. A card gun. A soccer ball.  
Clumsy hands. Rough palms. Loosened ties. Scuffed knees. A hand (curled) in his hair.  
Swollen lips. Sore jaw. Ecstasy.

But yet, when he returned home that night, he coughed out a straight vine of bright yellow wisteria. Like the 1820’s drama of The Wisteria Maiden (endurance despite heartache, how laughable).He ended up washing the vine and put it on display too (Aoko asked him about his sudden interest in wisterias, as they now decorated the house). The curled (destructive), spirals vines (obsession) of wisteria (over-passionate) that littered the house was enough for his worried neighbour to cautiously question whether he has heard of the Hanahaki disease (‘I have, Ahoko. I just really like wisterias lately. You’re reading too much into it.’). There’s surgery for it (‘It can kill, Bakaito!’). Before it’s too late.

(It’s already too late.)

Another heist notice. Another award-winning show. A blood-racing chase. A glider. A paraglider.  
Forceful knees. Metal handcuffs. Hotel room. Torn suit. Safe words (ha).  
Pinned down. Prey. Ecstasy.

The hunter wanted answers (such romantic pillow-talk). The hunter demanded answers (such kinky pillow-talk). His prey was being dull. His prey was being slow. His prey was being different. He wasn’t in top-condition. Kaito Kid wasn’t taking him, Kudo Shinichi, seriously. ('What a string of inaccurate deductions, meitantei~')

So who was he, as his prey, as his phantom thief, to deny the detective the answers he so desired? And maybe, just maybe, it had been building and he couldn’t escape under the detective’s grip around his throat. He moved a hand to the detective’s wrist, soothingly removing the hands from his throat to release the hurricane, the flurry, the torrent of wisteria flowers that covered his chest (if only he had material to wrap them into a bouquet).

“My name---”

“--is Kuroba Kaito.”

Excited giggling (his hunter was so brilliant). Bloody vines of wisteria gagged and choked out as he rolled off the bed. He’s going to die for his hunter. Apt, now that his hunter had fully caught him.

“The Hanahaki disease.” His hunter always spoke with a tone of indifference. It was no different now. “Who would have thought that the great Kaito Kid would be unable to charm someone to their knees for him.” The detective sat by the side on the bed, crossing his legs as thief coughed and made disgusting noise at his feet. A foot reaches out and nudges the thief over, (he falls over) watching him cough out more flowers mixed with blood (the beautiful wisteria of mysteries).

It was impossible (but he’s a magician of miracles) to breathe. It was impossible to see (he’s tearing up). It’s a futile task, as he doesn’t want anyone at his feet.

He was right where he wanted to be.

His hunter was patient (most hunters were). The prey composed himself, wrapped his hand around his hunter’s foot (he has touched dirtier parts of him), and pressed his bloody lips upon the (smooth) back of his hunter’s foot. “I can equally charm someone while being on my knees for them, meitantei.” He breathed (chokes) out with a husky voice, throat scratched up and desperate ( _desperate_ ).

“Then swear your allegiance to me. Your absolute obedience and nothing less.”

A hunter till the end. (Soon-to-be Hypnotiq’s amused expression.)

The prey grinned. (Soon-to-be Moscato was being given a chance.)

“How poetic. I’ll give everything you want to take from me. I’m yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> *藤 = wisteria  
> 工藤 = Kudo
> 
> I plan to put all my potential Hanahaki fics relating to DCMK here. Feel free to leave suggestions!


End file.
